


after five beer glow

by slightlytoasted



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 13:43:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17204444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlytoasted/pseuds/slightlytoasted
Summary: Shane learns what happens when his neighbour oversteps his four beer limit.





	after five beer glow

**Author's Note:**

> Finally about to propose to Shane in Stardew Valley and while I was fishing I was idly thinking how my farmer-dude would seduce him if he could... Cue this verbal deluge. It ended up a bit longer than expected!

∞

Winter had settled over the valley, a thick white blanket of it that muffled the sounds of the farm. It was not the first winter since he’d arrived. This year he stood on his porch warming his hands around his coffee and feeling mildly relieved he hadn’t misjudged the harvest and lost a whole pumpkin patch like last year. The grounds were slumbering under the snow and waiting for spring.

There was mail in the box; bills, adverts, friendly reminders that it was too late for flu jabs and if you hadn’t got them you were on your own. Amongst them was a handwritten letter that was smeared slightly by a left-handed writer. Sheepishness was evident in it, with the handwriting neat even if the sentences weren’t. It was signed ‘Shane’ in block capitals, and smelled faintly of the aftershave Marnie bought him every birthday. It also mentioned a parcel. Closer inspection revealed some scraps of brown paper by the woodshed, and a golden tail poking out – no food packages were safe from the four-legged hoover.

“Thief,” he said to the shaggy face when it poked out and ducked guiltily back.

He’d instinctively clenched his hand when he caught a whiff of aftershave and the letter was slightly crumpled. Smoothing out the wrinkles, he tucked it into his pocket. He resolved, again, that he’d fuck that man before the winter was out. For now he’d enjoy himself in Shane’s company, and sneak peeks at his round ass when he wasn’t looking, and overtly flirt with him when he did. It wouldn’t matter – nothing seemed to get through to his friend.  
It was lucky he was not easily deterred. He thought back to the smudged closing line: ‘Pub, tonight, 8?’ and smiled to himself.

∞

Shane was trudging back home to change out of his stained uniform (under normal circumstances he’d drag himself pitifully to the pub after work but this time he wasn’t going there to stare into the fire alone so he might as well put in an effort) when he nearly collided with something broad, brown and hairy.

He scowled up without much fire at the part of his neighbour’s face that was poking out of layers of wool.

“I have no desire to get mowed down in the street by your animal,” he grumbled, and tried to sidestep the horse.

Its rider pulled smartly on a rein and the horse turned a tight circle and fell into step with him. Its massive head dwarfed him.

“Can I give you a ride?”

“And go back in the opposite direction?” Shane retorted without any venom, “Don’t let me keep you from your actual destination.” He eyed the horse. “And don’t make me get on that thing.”

He could see indecision in the one fifth of face visible, but eventually there was a nod.

“I do have a few errands to run”, came the muffled answer, “So I’ll pick you up at 8 instead.”

Before Shane could splutter an ‘absolutely not, no way’, the farmer had shot away with a parting wave. They thundered over the bridge, the horse’s muscles bunching as they dived around Elliot and disappeared towards the beach. Shane shook his head the whole way home, glowering and muttering as he stripped out of his polo and pulled on a respectable-looking blue one, if only to pretend he was angry and that his poor heart wasn’t panicking at the thought of having to get on that monster his neighbour insisted on charging around on.

“Just because you have balls of steel,” he said to the mirror, and then grimaced. _Don’t think about his genitals._

He checked the water in the vase of flowers, but decided against refilling it. He’d had a hell of a job sneaking the bouquet past Marnie, who thrived on gossip and would have stapled him by the overalls to the mantelpiece until he told her where they came from.

Flowers. A guy giving another guy flowers. It meant nothing – which Shane told himself every time, because there was no point getting riled up about something imaginary. He avoided looking back at his reflection as he felt sure his ears had gone a little pink. He petted a lily and then went to go and find his nicest pair of sneakers.

At 10 to 8 the knock came.

 

“I am not getting on that thing,” he said to the scarf that obscured the entire face of his kidnapper, and glared filthy murder at the upturned bucket Marnie had put next to the beast.

“He’s absolutely harmless”, was the cheerfully undeterred answer, “And besides, of all my animals, it’s the Lord of Barkness you want to watch out for as I have to admit, he did eat your parcel today – here.”

Shane took the hand, because of course he took the hand. This was the man whose nether regions he’d been thinking of not twenty minutes earlier. It was gloved and warm, and bigger than his own. He let himself be guided closer and pulled his own scarf up to hide his warm cheeks.

“Hook your feet – Shane don’t whine at me – hook them into the stirrups and swing over!”

He nearly panicked when he was left sitting on his own for a moment as the bucket was swiftly returned, but the animal just chomped its bit idly and swished its tale through the falling snowflakes. He nearly screeched when the great head swung round to watch its owner jogging back, but then, with a neatly performed vault, much more polished than Shane’s undignified mounting had been – _don’t think of mounting, Shane_ – a narrower back was slotting against Shane’s chest. He wiggled away to give the other more room on the saddle, and immediately regretted it as they slid closer to slot together in the middle.

“This saddle isn’t really designed for two.”

He heard the apology in the voice and tried to mumble something like “cool cool” and “no problem” and ended up with something much more like “no coblem” but it didn’t matter anyway as he still ended up in an undignified yelp as the farmer nudged the horse into a walk. He squeezed his thighs to anchor himself, meaning to reassure him that he wouldn’t fall off, and instead making the distracting rub of the other man’s tailbone on his crotch a thousand times worse.

“Okay back there?”

Their heads were so close. Shane didn’t know what to do with his hands so he closed his fingers gingerly on the jacket in front of him. “Fine, yeah.”

They plodded in silence to the pub until the farmer passed the reins over to one hand and pulled his fingers through the horse’s mane. Shane broke the hush to mutter, “keep both hands on the wheel!”

There was a pause and they both laughed, and continued to chuckle as they reined in by the saloon and he was helped down.

The horse trotted off after a slap on the rump. Shane raised his eyebrows.

A shrug and a smile. “He’s a big boy, he makes his own way home.” Their shoulders nudged together as they entered, “Didn’t think you’d want to get back on after a few pints.”

They disrobed at their usual table by the fireplace, and Shane was taken as he always was by the large, long hands (more slender than his) and the faint hint of freckle-colour across the bridge of the other man’s nose. They both scrubbed the hair on their chins after unwinding their scarves and laughed at each other as they did it in tandem.

“First rounds on me,” he said, and escaped to the bar to cool off the faint stirring in his pants that smile had caused.

_Keep your cool, Shane._

 

Four beers was about his neighbours limit. At that level, his eyes shimmered, he leaned back dangerously in his chair, and his sentences would occasionally derail like a freight train off a cliff and he’d address with intensity things that Shane wished were not so intensely looked at.

That was where they were at now, and Shane found the subject in question today were the healed-over holes in his ears.

“Why’d you take them out?”

“Gridball.”

“Why’d you pierce them in the first place?”

Shane pulled a face. “I was briefly in a band.”

“What did you play?”

Shane paused. “Bass.”

With any other person, he’d never have been so forthcoming, but this friendship had come with some sort of unspoken code that Shane was not to be pushed.

“Tattoos too?”

He shifted. “One.”

Across the table, long fingers steepled, bridged together, and formed a platform for a face to be leaned on. The gaze on him was interested, but not piercing.

“Me too.”

Shane’s ears pricked. “Oh?”

A wolfish smile. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

And there went the limit. Shane excused himself to the bathroom and braced his hand against the mirror, rearranged the front of his trousers and told himself only protagonists in teenage dramas splashed water on their face. He told himself to buckle up and not balls up a perfectly good friendship – his only perfectly good friendship, by snogging him in front of half the town.

He pretended to scan the specials menu on his way back, while actually giving the broad figure a once over where he was slumped in the chair by the fire. The farmer was scrubbing a hand absentmindedly through his hair, and strands of it were sticking up.  
Shane’s body could look like that if he didn’t have to eat Joja Mart ready meals on his breaks, and if he halved the beer and did a bit more labour than lifting cans up to the top shelf. In fact, when he’d first met the newcomer months after he’d taken on the abandoned farm, Shane had mistaken his interest for envy – jealousy even. A part of that feeling was there, but now Shane mostly thought about the other man’s hands on his squishier body, and it filled him up with shame and arousal in equal measures.

Gus the bartender wandered over with a fifth beer.

Shane hurried over and caught the edge of it, pushing it back onto the table with a little too much force. The foam slopped over the edge.

“Hey,” his drinking buddy said reproachfully.

Shane was unmoved. “Are you not at your limit now?”

They were both distracted by his attempts to unlatch Shane’s hand. If they weren’t careful, they’d end up holding hands in full view of everyone and Shane had his reputation of no one knowing who he really was to uphold.

When Shane’s grip threatened to bring the whole pint over, another tack was tried. “But I’ve already paid for these.”

Damn it but he got him. He wasn’t sure what the other man made but his Joja wage smarted at the thought.

“Fine.”

“You can walk me home if you’re worried.”

“What!” Shane looked around, and, leaning in, repeated more quietly, “What.”

Eyes filled with total naivety blinked back at him. “Only if you’re worried, though.”

“Asshole, now I have to otherwise what kind of friend would I be?”

The farmer took a swig and then wiped froth off his lip with drunken deliberation and a small frown pinching his eyebrows together. Shane found himself pressed his thighs together, willing restraint.

 

They finished off the dregs slowly, sluggish with warmth and easy conversation, and bundled themselves back up for the return journey.

They definitely made slower progress, as occasionally Shane would have to correct his companion’s balance and guide him around anything below the knee after he banged his shins on almost everything he could. The lane to the farm reminded them it was barely concealed ice under snow when it took them both down in an avalanche of limbs and woollen accessories. It took them a minute to get up as Shane found he had ended up at the bottom and his drinking buddy seemed to have no inclination to right himself.

He was out of breath once he’d hauled them both up and by the time they’d both bundled through the door of the farmhouse, their layers were askew and Shane was panting slightly.

“You are not allowed to reach five beers again,” he said hotly to the man currently stripping-

“Why are you stripping!” he squawked.

The coat and woollens were already shed, and the man popped four buttons even as he looked at him.

“Too hot,” he said.

Curls peeked out of the wide ‘v’.

He backed hurriedly toward the door as the farmer undid his belt and slid it off.

“Wait, Shane.”

He found he was totally powerless to the little bit of gravel five beers and several hours of talking did to that voice.

“Before you go, can I kiss you?”

Shane said nothing as he was approached, the door nearly to his back and just waiting the last couple of inches until he was being pressed against it. Shane tried desperately to think of anything except the manga Sam had lent him last time they were snowed in at Joja Mart and no one came to the store. A lot of people had been pressed against walls and doors in those too.

But the last few feet weren’t closed and Shane found himself getting observed with an inebriated kind of wistfulness. There was a pause that was too long to be entirely comfortable.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Okay.”

Another pause where their mouths hung half-open.

“What?”

“Okay,” Shane repeated.

He set his jaw in a way that must have looked like he was about to go into a bare knuckle street fight, but in some deep corner of his being was preparing for rejection in the first three seconds. The distance was closed between them, the door pressed against his back even though he didn’t remember walking or getting pushed closer to it, and then their mouths were coming together.

It was hot and lewdly wet, and it tasted like beer.

Which was all and well and good and pleasant, and Shane was waiting for him to pull away and awkwardly wish him goodnight, but what he didn’t expect was for the man to step closer, unzip his puffer jacket and push his hands in to curl around Shane’s ribs like they were the grate around a fireplace designed to warm his hands over. A breath that tipped too close over into a groan was sighed into Shane’s mouth and he almost went blind with the lightning bolt of arousal that shot through him. He was hard and pressing into his _goddamn neighbour’s leg_ and he had no idea what to feel about that.

There was no indication Shane’s predicament had been noticed, except for a couple of more ragged breaths. The hands wandered to his back and smoothed down. He stepped in closer and Shane found he was entirely crowded, and even though this guy had only half a foot on him it was like he was hemmed in by a wall; a warm, hard wall that was currently stroking its tongue over his lips and had just run hands down to hold his hips.

When they coiled their tongues together, Shane let a breathless little hiccup free and felt the answering rumble.

Encouraged, and hopelessly turned on, he dragged his hands down over the soft belly pressed against him, rounded from the beer, and slid them over the sharp hips to cup the ass he’d been admiring in silence for so long. The cheeks in his palms clenched as they broke the kiss for a moment.

“Stay for a bit, Shane.”

The request was immediately followed by another open-mouthed kiss, as if he wasn’t willing to hear the answer in case it wasn’t what he wanted. Shane emerged for a moment to grumble, “Only a bit-” but it broke a little and he didn’t even have time to feel embarrassed before a slower kiss descended on him. Shane kneaded the cheeks in his hands but was gratified that the same wasn’t done to the soft flesh on his hips – it was as if the man knew it might send him running without looking back.

His jacket was pushed off with a murmured “Is this alright?” and they were able to crush themselves closer together. A leg pushed between his own and Shane acknowledged its presence with a low cry. He was desperately trying not to rut against his friend – it would be too real, too irreversible if they crossed the bar that meant sex was on the horizon. As if sensing this, hands cupped his head, tilted it up – Shane unconsciously answered by fisting his hands in the back of the man’s shirt – and a single, deliberate thrust rocked their erections together.

“Wait!” he groaned, as they both jerked again in reflex, hips stuttering against each other.

They paused but Shane was given no space – if anything he felt pressure on his chest increase, as if he was leaned on, held close.

“I can’t…” he struggled to formulate the words. “This is, I can’t.”

“I’ll stop if you don’t want it, if you tell me this isn’t what you want,” came the rough response, as if the other man was forcing himself to say it, however unwillingly. “I’ll never force you. But please don’t make me stop if you think I’m not interested.”

Cold air flooded Shane’s chest. He was left standing alone against the door, the few inches of space making him realise how cold the kitchen of the farmhouse was.

“I…” he gestured to himself. “How could you!?”

It was the farmer’s turn to scowl and it was such an unfamiliar expression on him that Shane almost laughed.

His fists were clenched by his sides. “Don’t ask me how could I, don’t you do that. I’ll sing your praises if you want, _Shane.”_ His name was almost spat but it was frustration that coloured the tone, and not anger, “And won’t that be embarrassing. I like you, Shane, and not only that but I’m immensely attracted to you and I’ve wanted to screw your brains out on my dining table for months now.”

Shane’s eyes flicked over to the table in question before he could stop himself. He licked his lips.

“But why?” he pressed.

A sigh. “I don’t know why, Shane. But if you don’t feel the same, please.” He gestured to the door Shane was flush against. “Take a wide berth around the pond at the bottom of the farm.”

Shane didn’t leave. “And, if I stay?”

He watched the fingers tug through the choppy hair. “I’ll make you a non-alcoholic hot chocolate and make up the sofa-bed.”

“And if I’d rather the dining table?”

This time, he watched the lips part, the dark pink tongue flick over them. It was a heartbeat before a response came.

“I’d rather the bed. It’s pretty chilly out here and I banked the fire in the hearth.”

“How manly.”

The eye roll back at him eased something in his chest that was quietly terrified the friendship was gone like so much smoke. He let his wrist be taken and even coiled his fingers through the hand that held him captive. He let himself be led into the bedroom, and stopped dead at the life-size bear statue in the corner.

“Why?” he asked his friend.

“Because I’m a beast in the bedroom,” was the nonchalant response, and Shane shoved him, forgetting that the man had muscle and height on him as he grabbed him reflexively. Balance lost, they tumbled onto the bed and Shane, giddy with how ridiculous this whole situation was, thrust into him and savoured those kiss-reddened lips popping into an ‘O’ and the slight furrowing of his brow that Shane would never not be able to connect with sex.

They rutted together in a frenzy bordering on desperate, shedding their top layers, and any misgivings Shane had flew out the window when his own semi-naked body was littered with nips and wet kisses. He couldn’t have fought him off if he wanted too, and when teeth sank into the smooth, white skin of his shoulder, his only thought while his brain threatened to explode was _holy fuck that’s hot_.

He was keen on removing one set of trousers, but when the hands turned to his flies, he grabbed at them and hesitated. It was the husky, “Please, Shane” that pushed him to the point of being nosed out of his trousers, and then his boxers.

He nearly wept when the weathered palm closed around his cock and stroked him so gently at first, as though he were might of china, that it led him to buck needily into the grip, and to moan aloud words that he would have flushed to even have read. There was a throaty litany of ‘Shane’ and ‘holy fuck’, and he responded with ‘more’ and garbled versions of ‘please’ and ‘yes’ and even at one point ‘ thank you’, which made them both pull back and laugh at before their erections reminded them they still needed release.

They fucked their boners together, catching each other’s lips in their teeth, and swallowing each other’s moans. Shane found now he’d started, he couldn’t keep his hands off the body above him. He needed to touch it all, so he ran his knuckles over the xylophone of his lover’s ribs and traced the fading lines of the horseshoe tattoo when he found it there, feeling gratified when it caused a rippling shudder and a shallow thrust, and the same treatment on the teenage thunderbolt tattoo on his leg. He caught a nipple under his fingernails, gazing wonderingly at the hiss and arch of the other man’s spine, and when he caught it in his teeth, the gruff “Careful” it prompted was enough to nearly tip him over.

As it was, they reached their climax at almost the same time together in the fist of the farmer, shooting ropey ribbons of white over each other and the floor and the bedding, as he gently pumped the last dribbles out of them. A flash of a grin as Shane, oversensitive, grumbled for him to stop, but accepting the gentle kiss nonetheless as they cleaned themselves off.

Shane fell asleep tucked into a warm side, after glowering at the cat-got-the-cream grin on his lover’s face even as he hid his own into the curls on the chest next to him, basking in the after-five-beer-glow.


End file.
